05- Of Swordmasters and Soup
by Chronic Guardian
Summary: "You could always go to the Akabeko and—" "Not until I settle up my tab with 'em," Sano grunted. "Look, man. You're the best cheap food around, so help me out, okay?" A chronicle of a certain swordmaster's culinary pursuits. [Twelve Shots of Summer]


**Of Swordmasters and Soup**

by Chronic Guardian

**A/N: Written for the Twelve Shots of Summer week 5(Alternate: The Many Mysteries of Kenshin Himura).**

**To avoid confusion: the title character is referred to under the titles Kenshin, the wanderer, Himura, Hitokiri Battousai, Battousai, and a few other miscellaneous mixes. Yes, they are all the same person, and no, this is not a Russian Novel.**

**Also, translations have been mixed from the Media Blasters anime dub and the Viz Big manga editions.**

**Happy Reading,**

**-CG**

The Kamiya dojo had gone quiet. With the louder occupants, Yahiko and Miss Kaoru respectively, gone for the afternoon, it had thus become the sort of day for laundry and cleaning. Of course, being the only responsible adult home, that also meant that the wanderer would be making dinner.

"Hey, Kenshin," the wanderer looked up to find he wasn't alone. The imposing form of a six-foot-something nineteen year old man slipped in to lean on the door frame. "Got anything to eat around here? I'm starving."

"Oh, hello there Sano!" One of the dojo's regular visitors, and a consummate mooch, Sanosuke Sagara had a habit of showing up to bum a meal or two when he could. The wanderer, Kenshin, beamed amiably. "This one is just getting about that, actually. But I'll bet Miss Megumi and Doctor Gensai are having lunch right about now, have you tried—?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sano sighed irritably, waving off the suggestion. "But she'd probably make a huge deal out of it an' try to get me to beg or something. 'Sides, the food around here is pretty hassle free, 'specially with the little missy out for the day, and it's not half bad when you make it. So what's the word then? Ya got anything?"

The wanderer gave a pondering frown as he continued to work. "This one doesn't think Miss Kaoru's cooking is _that_ bad... but if you're really that hungry then you could always wait until this is ready."

"Eh, I guess it's better than nothin'," Sanosuke conceded, looking away. "You sure you don't got any leftovers?"

"Quite sure, I'm afraid" Kenshin replied. "You could always go to the Akabeko and—"

"Not until I settle up my tab with 'em," Sano grunted. "Look, man. You're the best cheap food around, so help me out, okay?"

"Me?" The wanderer's eyes widened slightly.

"Yeah, you. Where'd you learn to cook like that, anyway?"

Kenshin blinked and looked up, trying to recall the exact instance himself. "Well... I guess you could say that part of it was just how I was raised."

Sano gave him a skeptical look. "Hang on... weren't you raised by a swordsman? Seijuro something-or-other? How'd he teach you?"

"...He didn't."

* * *

"Master?"

"Mmm?" Seijuro Hiko the thirteenth lazily shifted his eyes down to his apprentice just long enough to ascertain that the boy didn't have an actual problem before returning to his meditation.

"Are you just going to stare at that waterfall?" the boy with dirty auburn hair asked tentatively.

"I'm _meditating_, my stupid apprentice," Seijuro asserted, before taking a swig from his sake jug. "It is the right and duty of a master to set his mind to the perfection of his craft."

"...Master?"

Seijuro graciously held back a glare. "Yes?"

"How long is this meditating going to take?"

"As long as I decide it to."

"Oh..." The boy proceeded to stand there dumbly and beg the question as to why on earth he would choose to interrupt Seijuro's brilliance like this.

"Is there something else?" The swordmaster eventually prompted.

"I was... umm... I was wondering when dinner will be."

Oh, so that's what this was all about. "Hmph," he set his back to the boy and continued his practice. "If you're hungry, then find a way to feed yourself. I can't very well go passing off the secrets of the Hiten Mitsurugi-ryuu to an idiot who can't even do that much."

Three hours later, when Seijuro Hiko had finished contemplating which polisher he would favor with the upkeep of his sword, he returned to the hut to find his apprentice doubled up on the floor. Next to the boy lay some mushrooms, one with a bite taken out of it.

Seijuro sighed and picked the tasted sample up to examine it. Just as he'd thought, little Kenshin had failed to discern which ones were safe to eat. These wouldn't kill him, true, but they'd leave him with a burning stomachache for at least a day and a half. There was little to do but give the boy a placebo and wait for things to run their course.

"Master..." Kenshin groaned, struggling to look up. "I think I'm... dying."

_Dying?_ Seijuro lifted an eyebrow. Hardly. But it was better to offer him some fake cure and let him convince himself into health than to have the boy convince himself otherwise.

After a mix of powdered herbs and dried fruit (with maybe just a tad of sake to wash it down) the fool was sleeping soundly and Seijuro was left to rethink his strategy.

The next morning, he gave Kenshin a list of the edible plants in the area and access to the stew pot for his own uses. It was only after that that Master Hiko realized how advantageous this would become. A few weeks later, when Kenshin could make a stomachable stew, Seijuro stopped cooking altogether and simply took his portion from whatever his apprentice was making; often not without a remark or two on what could be done to improve it.

Slowly, Kenshin climbed against his master's expectations.

* * *

"So... hang on," Sano frowned and crossed his arms. "You got better 'cuz your stupid master made you cook for him?"

"That was the start of it," Kenshin sighed. "I ended up cooking with sake a lot."

Sano smirked. "To get him drunk?"

Kenshin returned with a rueful smile. "Master Hiko drank sake like it was water, Sano. This one doesn't believe he'll ever be drunk a day of his life, that I most certainly don't."

"So what was it for then?"

"Taste."

"Oh, I get it," the nineteen-year-old's expression inverted with understanding. "So you gave 'em what he wanted to keep him happy."

"More or less," Kenshin shrugged and continued to tend the fire under the soup pot. The crumbling logs shifted and blackened as they sputtered sparks against iron. "It was different when this one joined the imperialists, though."

"Why's that? They had plenty of sake to go around, didn't they?"

The wanderer's face became distant for a moment. "When one's life is sought by many enemies, taste becomes just another disguise to approach under. After all, the taste of poison is usually hidden under stronger elements to fool the palette."

"But you were the one making it, right?"

"Better safe than sorry," Kenshin said, his mouth resuming its customary smile. "It only takes a second for someone to slip something in, that it does. Without taste getting in the way, this one could always tell."

"Alright, so you started making tasteless food so you could detect poison, then what?" Sano asked, batting his hand as if to push the subject along. "I mean, the story obviously doesn't end there, otherwise your stew would taste worse than the little missy's. What made it good again?"

"Trust," Kenshin answered simply. "And trouble this one deserved."

* * *

Hitokiri Battousai scowled. She had followed him home when she wasn't supposed to.

Of course, he had let her live when he wasn't supposed to, so that made them even.

"Leave," he told her again, his voice mustering all the strength a fifteen year-old's could carry. Usually he didn't have to talk, to order, to demand. Persuasion and eloquence weren't necessary elements in the life of a hitokiri; they were generally substituted by bladework.

She refused to answer, refused to so much as lift her head to show that she had heard him. Instead she just kept working in the kitchen, preparing a meal alongside the housekeeper.

"Oh, so you finally brought home a woman," Iizuka joined in from behind him. "Himura, you sly fox! Does Katsura know?"

"No," Battousai asserted firmly. "And he doesn't have to. She'll be gone soon."

Iizuka threw an arm around the smaller hitokiri's shoulders and grinned. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that. Look, she's even making you dinner! A meal made by a lovely lady will surely lift the spirits of even the stoic Kenshin Himura. So long as she's clean—"

"She's not," Battousai interrupted. "She saw me do it."

Iizuka paused, apparently taken off-guard. "...On assignment?"

"No, this one came to me all on his own. He called out my name though."

"Then she's got to stay!" Iizuka decided, his grin returning in full force. "Can't have her going out and blowing your cover, y'know? Besides, she might make a decent cook!"

Battousai's eyes flashed. "She might make a decent assassin if she so chooses to take advantage of fools like you."

"Oh, lighten up!"

Himura the Battousai simply glared at his comrade as hearty scents began to fill the air. That night, he refused to eat.

* * *

Her name was Tomoe Yukishiro, and she stayed.

Iizuka laughed. Katsura surprisingly had no objections to the girl.

Battousai became ragged.

As a hitokiri, Himura had learned exactly how dangerous comfort could be to a man. Those were the times when he struck. With Tomoe at the house, he barely had time to sleep for fear of finding a dagger in his stomach. He bought food from roadside vendors instead of eating what she served and found time to prepare something for himself now and then; often with her watching from the corner of the room. Cautiously, he watched her too.

She was beautiful, but in a cold distant way; like the embers of a great fire still glowing defiantly in the wind. Years of studying Hiten Mitsurugi had taught him to read opponents and predict their next move in a fight. Here he was at a complete loss. When she'd first come, he could've sworn he saw hatred in her eyes. Slowly, that impression had faded though, replaced simply by a hollow woman waiting for… something. For what though? For revenge? For freedom? For the whole Bakumatsu to be over?

He watched and waited, eventually growing weary of scowling. Finally, one day, almost by accident, he fell asleep. With Tomoe in the house.

He woke up with a start. Not with a violent shock or a piercing pain, simply with the surprise that he had allowed himself the foolish luxury. He checked himself over, trying to ascertain if anything had left or come upon his person, before slowly standing and sniffing the air. It smelled... good. Not alluring, or deceitfully sweet. _Good_.

His stomach groaned, reminding him he'd forgotten to eat before his nap. He cradled it gingerly and followed the enchanting aroma down to the kitchen.

Tomoe was there, silent as ever. She noticed him immediately and he saw a flicker of surprise cross her eyes, as if she had been expecting someone else. He gazed back stolidly and sat down at the table. After a minute more, she hesitantly brought out her efforts and served him. He quietly thanked her and raised his chop sticks.

The taste was bland. Not entirely, it held more of a color than his cooking did; but it was muted in comparison to the scent. All the wonder he'd smelled coming down was absent.

She watched expectantly, waiting for his answer to the cooking he had sought.

He finished the meal, thanked her again, and left, strengthened, but empty.

* * *

"Did he like it?" Tomoe asked, busying herself with the upkeep of the kitchen.

Iizuka grunted a chuckle. "He ate it right?"

"But what did he say?"

The hitokiri's mirthful expression twisted uncomfortably "He said... umm... 'It was great! I've never had such wonderful cooking in my life!"

Tomoe paused to give Iizuka a cynical glare.

"... He said 'never make it again'," the man sighed, rubbing at the fuzz occupying his upper lip. "But cheer up! You jumped the first river, didn't you? It can only get better from here."

Tomoe resumed her work silently.

* * *

Strangely enough, Iizuka was right; Himura let down his walls and approached her. At a deliberate and wary pace, of course, but he was no longer watching her as he would a threat. And as he approached, her cooking began to gain flavor again. She would include spice, and stopped boiling the taste out of her vegetables. And he kept eating.

He began to trust her. They didn't talk much, but he began to sleep and breathe and _live_ without keeping one fearful eye open in anticipation of his demise.

Finally, one morning when she woke to find him off on assignment again, she also found a dish prepared for her at the table. The housekeeper claimed that Himura had made it.

Tomoe took a bite and paused. It was mostly bland, but a few distinctive tastes wove their way through to her palate. It was enough to suffer through, at least.

When he returned home, he thanked her for her patience.

The next time he cooked for her, the taste was stronger.

* * *

And it kept getting stronger. Once it even went too far. Tomoe still ate it politely, but they both agreed the attempt had been too ambitious, too overblown. It wasn't genuine.

That was the thing about their cooking, he realized, it was genuine. It was strong and pure and harbored nothing malevolent. It tasted safe and warm in the midst of a violent and uncertain era.

It tasted... good.

* * *

"So that's it then?" Sano asked skeptically. "You 'cooked from the heart' or whatever and that made your cooking better?"

"Perhaps this one is not so good with words," Kenshin admitted. "I simply mean to say I had good practice, and a good teacher."

"Hmph," Sanosuke grunted into his crossed arms and let his head tilt back to study the sky. "I'll bet the little missy'll be _thrilled_ to hear _that_ one."

"That one? You mean Tomoe?" Kenshin said, almost sounding surprised. "Well... she's a story for another time, that she is."

"Why? Did she break your heart or somethin'? If she's still around then this is the sorta thing Kaoru should know about, man."

"No," a sad smile passed the wanderer's face and he brushed his hand against the 'x' shaped scar on his left cheek. "Tomoe's story ended with the revolution. This cooking is the closest you'll ever know her."

"So it's 'soup soaked in memories'. That's the secret?"

"Perhaps it is, Sano, perhaps it is."

Sanosuke rolled his eyes and sat back as Kenshin began to ladle out the soup. "Whatever makes it work, I guess."

}{

**A/N: Yes, I twisted the events to make it work. It's been a while since I read the manga, so I kind of forget Kenshin and Tomoe's first meeting anyway. But I still like how this one turned out. If you enjoyed it in the slightest, then I'd encourage you to go check out the other Twelve Shots of Summer, found at the TSoS community. There you'll find a whole gaggle of talented authors and almost certainly find something else to suit your tastes.**


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